Here Lies the Accomplice
by kingofmumbling
Summary: Following along the bad ending in P4G, Souji has moved on from Inaba and chosen to isolate himself from the friends he made there. Despite this, Adachi keeps in contact with the young man on his own agenda, and the ultimate result is poignant. WARNINGS: Depression, Suicide, Implied M/M, P4/P4G Spoilers


It's the times Souji wakes up at night in a cold sweat that he locks eyes onto the ceiling; his ears ring painfully, every light in the apartment is off creating the empty kind of darkness. Five years later, his mind still drifts briefly to the close friends he could never see because of his choices, the uncle who had placed such faith in him only to lose his little girl, the bonds he had betrayed in the end. He always cries once the faces materialize behind his eyes, the faces that are fading as time passes on, the ones he blocks out selfishly to save the last bastion of his heart. Though, like many times before, a particular face soon finds its way to the wretched boy during those dark hours.

Then, the self-loathing begins.

On better nights, he is able to withstand the piercing glare, one accompanied by the haunting mug of a smile. On these nights he simply pulls himself over to the small, digital radio by the nightstand and turns on one of the stations, something he searches for with a shaking hand because he still hasn't memorized the numbers that calm his nerves. On the nights when the eyes study him too viciously, he is overwhelmed by pulsating qualms, and anguish seizes his stomach so that he has to flee to the bathroom as to not dirty the other rooms with acidic bile. It is a tedious, tiresome process he goes through almost every day, but there is no form of comfort or way to stop it, not even when he's busy by attending cram school or working the late nights at the nearby convenience store. There is no consolation for the guilt he carries.

It was his fault, after all.

Nothing is worse than the nights when he is actually contacted by the eyes' deviant, either by a late night call or by a personable visit when the young man is working, though he honestly prefers the former since he can hide his trembling lips and the paleness that takes hold of his features. Adachi seems to know this, of course, and continuously puts him on show when they cross paths at the store. The more kindness he fakes, the higher possibility it was a bad day; the smiles coerce the accomplice into a bitter, near tearful state that leads the killer to relieve stress. Otherwise, if their interaction is palpable, the employee is able to stay soullessly calm amidst the tension, a small mercy given every now and then when Adachi is just "checking up" on the "brat," or just reminding him that, should the killer's identity be revealed to other police forces, he'd drag the accomplice down with him.

At least, the boy uses this motivation to understand why the policeman continues to visit him after all this time, also in consideration of the distance of the city from Inaba, the town of his sin. He hopes it's more-so this than Adachi truly deriving pleasure from the torturous reunions, but he never knows what's going on in the other's mind, regardless. This sickens him, the innate curiosity, the fact he does wonder about the broken mind despite all that has come to pass, Nanako's death included.

It's not one of the good days.

Souji stands at the counter in his mellow-colored apron, essentially a soothing green but stained black or brown in several spots from that night's cleanup calls. His bangs hang a bit too closely to his eyes, causing an irritable stinging, but he fears that if he abandons the average register routine he will seize up on the spot and disappear under the frightening smirk. Adachi is leaning on the counter slightly, a goofy misplaced grin on his face as his items are rang up one by one monotonously.

"Heyyy, cut an old friend some slack and give me a discount," he playfully complains as the price increase with each swipe. A nearby coworker steals a glimpse of Souji, speculating his course of actions to the remark in such a way that makes the young man swallow nervously.

"You know I can't do_ that_, Adachi-san." He dearly wishes no one notices it, especially not his current vendee, and summons a quick, robotic smile that passes off as sincerely gentle in most eyes. It is a mistake, one that the man up front recognizes immediately.

"Always such a _hard_, _honest_ worker." A fox's enchantment tugs on the ever young features.

Like a knife, the words stab forth into the fair boy's chest, directly into his bursting heart all the while he endures with a straight face, Adachi smiling but trying to hide the impish satisfaction he gets from this encounter. A sense of liberation swarms the wounded heart when the demon finally pays for the various ingredients and grabs the plastic bag without much else to say, but this is dashed when Adachi pauses just before the sensor mat by the door.

"Ah, before I forget, what time do you get off tonight, Souji-_kun_?" says the man with an innocent act, looking over his shoulders with the question. The younger of the two cannot hide his shock this time, he jerks in place before opening and closing his mouth. A smile elsewhere widens, "I've rode the metro so much I'm exhausted. If possible, I'd like to crash at your place till tomorrow! If I can, I mean."

If possible. If he can. They all have a notion of permission, of needing it, but both Souji and Adachi know that the latter needs none. Above, the clock's ticks strength as if to remind the boy in the apron that taking time to answer the demand was not in his best interest.

"I-Is that so?" It takes a moment to gather his thoughts, about five ticks total to steady his voice enough to speak. The consentient expression appears again, and Souji silently claps his hands on the counter, "My shift is nearly over... I'd be fine if you'd accompany me back home- as long as you don't mind a little mess."

This makes Adachi laugh outright.

"Little mess? For you, that means a book is out of place, or something like that. You should see _my_ place- the land of a single policeman is... Well, you can imagine." He grows sheepish when another customer, a pretty university student, flashes a small smile his way. Adachi scratches the back of his head and waves, "I'll wait outside for you, then."

It must have been a horrible day, Souji surmises, sinking into himself once the other disappears from view. He tries not to deflate any more when his coworker tells him that they'll handle the rest, allowing him off early to see and tend to his _dear friend_ sooner than later. He's utterly terrified by the time he hangs up his apron and says his goodbyes to the rest of the workers and the night shift's boss, his hands cling to the sides of his shirt as he walks out the back door and circles around to the front. To hide the fear, he makes sure to lift his feet properly when he walks, and, with one last second to compose himself further, he shoves his hands into his pockets, right as he reaches Adachi who is humming some TV toon, bathing in the eerie orange glow of a street lamp.

It takes everything in his power not to run away right there, to abandon the murderer on the spot and flee to his apartment alone. Although, with his resources, Souji would be surprised if Adachi didn't already know where he lived. In an attempt to not look so absent minded, he takes off his coat and drapes it over one arm, gluing his eyes to the seams in the fabric so he doesn't have to look at those eyes any longer than he has to. Perhaps from the lighting, but he feels he has been put on the spot once more, Adachi studying his features and mannerisms in silence for several moments. He aches under the interrogation.

"Alright then," The detective finally abstains, removing his back from the wall of the store. His fake attitude has all but died- his voice is low and similar to a stealthy predator's, much like his narrowed eyes, full of both boredom and minor interest. He holds the plastic bag at his side and waits impatiently for Souji to begin the trek home, a flag that the pale figure does not pick up on quick enough. His brow dips, and he puts his free hand on his hip, "Well, brat?"

Souji cannot say sorry enough, tightly clenching the side of his coat that is obstructed from view. He nods over and over before mechanically lifting his leg in a certain direction, on the route to his dark, bare apartment. He feels overly conscious as Adachi follows along, far less nervous than his guide, and though the partner in crime doubts it is so, he thinks for a moment that the deceivingly round eyes are lingering on the back of his head. That same feeling comes and goes as the walk continues, only solidifying when they reach the apartment complex's lobby. The young man has to stop and draw a card key from the coat's pockets in order to gain access to the lift, but in his anxious fumbling, the card drops from the opposite pocket he was searching in. Adachi rolls his eyes, an audible sigh murmured as he bends down and picks up the access key.

"Thank-you," Souji manages to say, but, instead of returning the card, Adachi takes one look at the boy's shaky hands and decides to swipe it himself.

"You've become quite the nervous wreck," He says, unsympathetically staring at the closed doors of the elevator while he places the card in the outstretched hands. His voice doesn't hide his disapproval which the other questions silently but dares not to ask aloud. Slowly, his own head turns toward the droning machine, waiting.

It's around midnight by the time the card is swiped again, at the entrance to the residence, and the two walk inside, Souji trailing Adachi this time and turning on the lights as he moves along. Kicking off his shoes and tossing the groceries on a nearby coffee table, the killer heads straight for the bed, crashing on the nearest side with arms stretched above his head. The Grey fidgets awkwardly in the foyer once he puts his coat on a nearby rack, always unsure of what to do in these circumstances, what Adachi wants him to do. It may not be the first time the man has wandered into the apartment, but the grad student can only assume how the night will go in these moments. He's unsure of the purchases Adachi made earlier that evening, a series of ingredients rather than the usual junk food and drink for the train ride back, but he guesses their purpose just as he takes a foot from the hall and the yawning man speaks.

"You were always worried about the way I eat, right? You wanted to come over to my place sometimes and make me something," he puts his chin on the bridge of his knuckles, his arm propped up on his thigh, "or... has that _changed_?"

The sarcasm is sharp, the memories hurt, but his face is blank and unchanged; Souji is able to withstand the comments this time, collecting the bag and heading into the kitchen compliantly. From this point of view, he can't see Adachi's face in response to the obedience, twitching in disenchantment and ennui. No good. He wants to see the stoic face alight with the bright passion it had years ago, back when the case was ongoing and the young man was surrounded by his likewise fervent friends. It isn't fun when the conversations and engagements are so one-sided, he thinks. What else could he do to get a rise out of the walking dead? He already talked about how badly things were going in Inaba, he mentioned Dojima's unstoppable drinking spell as well as his addiction to work, and playing modest at the convenience store was becoming too routine.

He lifts himself off the bed with a noiseless heave, moving quietly so Souji doesn't notice him hanging in the doorframe of the kitchen. To this day he doesn't know the exact reason why the former high school student sided with him in his dealings, destroying the only evidence that tied him to the case as the perpetrator, though he does have an inkling.

Turning back the clock's hands, the clues were in the soft eyes he was given, the sincere smiles offered when they talked. He hadn't noticed or picked up on any of the signs in those years, but, after much thought and the setting of the eternal smog in Inaba, it had somehow clicked one late night at the office as Adachi was refilling his mug with fresh coffee. Following this discovery, he promptly assumed it was just his vanity boasting- there's no way a brat like Dojima's Souji would harbor those kinds of sentiments. Still, the thought had been planted in the back of his mind, and when he paid the grey a visit in the new city for the first time, he was alarmingly aware of how many times the pale eyes flickered in his presence, or how the young man appeared restless when touched, guilty, yes, but also restless. Imagining it makes a pool of heat around and below his stomach- he's not exactly into guys, he admits, but a lack of breasts isn't the worse thing he could come across.

Adachi wants to test this tonight.

He chooses to invade the room at the same time Souji looks distracted by the food laid out on a cutting board, staggering left and right while avoiding detection. As suddenly as the taller male senses the killer's presence, he jolts, and rapidly swerves to turn around, but is cut off by arms snaking around his stomach, forming a firm "x" in the front. The trap by itself catches him off guard, Souji's head swings to face Adachi as quickly as it can, and on it are eyes cracked wide open, a mouth parted with a lack of understanding. It reminds Adachi of when the other found out his true identity, how he was responsible for the mysterious deaths around the small town. The distress on the face is the same, a confliction on the spiritual level, but Adachi doesn't give him time to think it out, lightly biting the pale flesh between the shoulder and nape of his neck.

Adachi has no idea of the shattering thoughts of the younger man, how he's broken the last straw of sanity the boy clung to- how he is devoured by an infernal self-hatred at the same time one of the snaking hands slip beneath the fastened front, beneath the loose boxers...

###

The remaining sweat on Souji chills as he lay exposed to the apartment's temperature, the cold winter outside seeping into the dwelling. He stares at the ceiling, not much more than a corpse; meanwhile, Adachi retreats underneath the covers and quickly falls asleep with two primal needs satisfied. Endorphins giving in to his emotions, there is already an ache deep in his hips, one that would bloom into a full blown rage in the morning, but it hurts far less than his chest that has clamped up tightly in unfathomable sorrow. He knows what he has done, yet another sickening sin, and believes he deserves the pain as he sits up slowly, shivering but steady to avoid waking his partner. He drags himself to the edge of the bed without a sound, but there are tears steadfast in his eyes, clinging to the lashes until he blinks, and then they plummet below hopelessly.

Suddenly, the faces emerge from the depths of his mind, and the bile is quick to shoot up his throat; it takes every last strand of will in his body to keep it down as he skids to the bathroom, Nanako's smiling face a gentle wisp in the despair. It's a wonder he is able to shut the door behind him and not miss the toilet when his guts suddenly burst forth from his lips. There's no way to be quiet now, no way to quietly retch, and he pours his heart into a final wish- one that dreams Adachi will not wake up and find him in his current state.

The overall act takes several rounds, and by the time his stomach is shriveled in weakness, he can barely lift his head from the porcelain bowl. He forces himself over the divider that forms a wall of the shower-bathtub, somehow yanking on one of the curved levers near the front, turning on viciously cold water. He simply sits in it, sits in the bathtub under the freezing rain and just leans against the tiled back, unable to do anything more. The faces persist in the darkness, the past encounters between friends make him feel both happy yet more accountable. It is bad enough he helped Adachi in his endeavor to remain unknown years ago, but he recognized it was a further transgression to do what he had done.

To enjoy what he had done.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of his shaving razor, and he is somewhat surprised as he is careful to put things away after use, particularly an object that has tempted him before. He picks the metal blade up, passes it between hands, and fiddles with the jelly wrap around its base, imprinting his fingertips into the matter repeatedly. For a moment, he looks upon the object fondly, it is a brand Dojima had introduced him to during his time in Inaba after he cut himself one too many times while shaving. He remembers how this has piqued Nanako's cute inquisitiveness, how she had watched him shave a time or two, bandages in hand in case he hurt himself again. He recalls how Yosuke grinned at the sight of a pink polka-dotted Band-Aid on his chin, how Kanji had complimented it, how Teddie wished he had facial hair so that Nanako would dote on him as well. How Chie got into a fight with Yosuke. How Yukiko had a laughing fit. He almost forgets how Adachi laughed at his cut up chin, making a snarky remark while pointing at the damage.

The first cut was far more painful than the rest, and, in time, the work becomes a relief factor. He grows tired in spite of the harsh, cold water pouring on his head, his vision blurs so much that everything fits in categories, different shades of red. He is amazed that, by the time his hands fall to his sides, he feels no pain for the first time in so long. He smiles gently, wondering if he could ever find a reset button to fix his past mistakes. He thinks he sees in a little farther on, beyond the sea of crimson waves.

Souji Seta hates himself.

He hates what he's done.

He hates who he loves.

And yet he finds happiness in his final moments, the faces of his friends close at heart.


End file.
